


Waiting on a Fever

by strawwolf



Category: Bellarke - Fandom, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 12:37:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13704612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawwolf/pseuds/strawwolf
Summary: Clarke gets an infection while on patrol with Bellamy. He can only watch and wait, hoping he doesn't lose her. Hopefully with Abby, a Trikru healer and sheer luck she'll recover.





	Waiting on a Fever

“Hurry up. I wanna get home before they start serving dinner.” Bellamy looked back up the trail at her.

“You must be hungry if you’re craving that slop.” Clarke shook her head, grimacing.

“That and you know how your mom gets when we’re late,” he smirked.

She sighed and blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Well if we hadn’t started rationing radios we’d be able to check in and let them know we’re not dead or dying. So they’ll just have to suffer in suspense until we get back.”

They ambled down what had once been an old deer path but was now considerably wider since it became part of the perimeter walk around Arkadia. This of course also meant there was less vegetation and undergrowth to absorb water during the spring rains, turning the trail into sludge and in some places, small ponds.

The pair skirted several of these water hazards, unwilling to test their depths as they checked the trap lines. Thanks to the weather they didn’t have much luck. Rabbits and squirrels were starvation food and obviously would be barely enough to feed the both of them let alone the entire camp. But it was better than nothing so Clarke and Bellamy dutifully collected them, reset the traps and left with what better qualified as snacks bumping on their backs.

At the beginning of Patrol they would trade stories and laugh at what they used to find normal. But as time passed they grew quiet, scanned the woods for movement and kept their guns at the ready. Encounters were unlikely but on occasion Azgeda liked to make incursions towards the border which kept everyone on their toes.

Today was no different apart from the light drizzle that had started, pattering down below the canopy and reducing visibility. The duo exchanged a look as an oncoming storm boomed somewhere beyond them, echoing off the distant hills. As they neared the river, digging their boots into the hill for traction, a curtain of rain advanced towards them.

Their standard issue clothing was another victim that had fallen to rationing in that it wasn’t waterproof. Unwilling to endure being soaked through on the walk back to camp they ducked under a large conifer for shelter.

Bellamy leaned up against the trunk and pushed his back into the wood for a moment, tilting his neck to the side to loosen the twinge in his shoulder. A bad fall a few weeks ago had left him sore and sporting a bruise that covered half his back. Clarke stood beside him, eyes on the opposite river bank. The bridge was miles away which made this a perfect place to cross away from prying eyes.

Ten minutes later with no sign of the rain letting up they didn’t have much choice but to continue. As they pushed off from the tree, Clarke stumbled into him and mumbled an apology as she tucked wet strands of hair out of her eyes. He cocked a brow but she brushed off his concern.

“Just a little tired. Come on. The sooner we get back, the sooner you can chow down on whatever brown goop they’ve serving in the Mess.”

Thunder cracked all around them now as they traveled into the storm.  Rain poured down and soaked them to their skin, seeping past layers meant to keep them warm. Two hours later both had started to shiver.

Bellamy had taken to carrying the squirrels in one hand instead of letting their tails stream water down his back and trickle into his boots. His hair dripped in his eyes and forced him to slick it back from his face. Clarke meanwhile had fallen behind. The sucking sludge of the trail had forced her off into the bushes for ease of travel. Every so often he’d have to wait for her to catch up which only gave him time to remember how hungry he was, his stomach an empty pit carving into his gut.

As she came to stand beside him he looked over. Her cheeks were flushed bright red despite the steady walking pace he’d set and she’d fallen further behind every time he turned back to check on her.

“We should take a break.”

Her brow knit together as she frowned, breathing heavily. “What happened to ‘we’re in a hurry’?”

He shrugged. “It’s not like dinner’s going anywhere.”

“I know but I’d rather get out of the rain and not just duck under a tree for a few minutes.” She leaned over and squeezed water out of her hair, hand shaking.

“You sure?”

“Yes I’m sure Bell I-”

She started coughing; long hacks turned into wheezes as she fought to catch her breath. He put a hand to her shoulder as she doubled over panting, eyes watering.

“We’re taking a break.”

She shuffled off his hand. “I’m fine. Air just, went down the wrong pipe,” she croaked.

Instead of listening he grabbed hold of her arm and pushed her towards a fallen tree. “Sit.”

He set aside her rabbits and gun to crouch down in front of her knees. Two fingers to her wrist failed to detect a pulse. She smirked as he searched for her radial artery, frowning in frustration.

“I guess now when they ask why we’re late I can blame you?”

Again he was silent and put a hand to her forehead. But there was no way of telling whether she had a fever thanks to the chill of the rain pouring down on them. So instead he cupped her cheek. She pulled away until fingers came up to envelop her shoulder and hold her steady.

“What are you-”

“Are you feeling alright?” He used his thumb to pull down her lid to reveal a bloodshot and glassy eye.

She huffed and dug the tip of her boot into the muck. “Yeah never better. Why?”

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist to stop the impromptu examination. That’s when he noticed the large red welt on her hand.

“When did you get this?”

“Get what?”

“This.” He held her hand in front of her face. The webbing between her finger and thumb inflamed with what looked like a tiny puncture wound.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged.

Without a word he grabbed both her gun and the squirrels, throwing them over his shoulder. “We have to get back to camp. Now.”

She sighed and looked up at him, blinking through the rain. “It might be nothing.”

“Or it could be why you had trouble breathing back there. Come on.” He stomped his feet, trying to work some warmth back into them.

She was about to stand when with no warning and little fanfare, she turned to lean over the log and emptied her stomach, spewing breakfast into the bushes. As she wiped her mouth and the world tilted back into place, she felt his hand on her shoulder. His voice was distant as her ears filled with a loud buzz.

It took several minutes for her to compose herself enough to continue and even then her vision swayed for a moment. A glut of dizziness and nausea washed over her as she slowly walked towards him until they were abreast. Under his supervision they continued at a slower pace in silence. Every step jarred her gut and he would occasionally check that she was still upright and moving. Tired and feeling gross, Clarke simply huddled into her collar as rain dripped from her hair down her neck to soak her clothes.

Why hadn’t she noticed the bite? Normally she catalogued any injury or illness, large or small and started treatment as soon as she could. Experience had taught her how unforgiving Earth was and yet she wouldn’t even have known if Bellamy hadn’t pointed it out. Maybe it was the fact that her hand felt numb. But was that from the bite or the cold? Without finding shelter and warming up she had no way of knowing so instead she just wiggled her fingers to little effect.

There was no measure of time as the sky was already dark with clouds and she had no inkling of how close they were to camp. There was only the endless trail in front of them so she concentrated on walking and not falling over. Every so often she would stop mid-stride and just breathe or at least try to. The wheeze didn’t reappear but her ears started ringing. As she tried to regain her equilibrium she held out her hands for balance. Thankfully sinking a few inches into the muck anchored her pretty well but it made gaining momentum again a colossal task. Every time it happened she took that much longer to recover as she leaned forward and swung her arms around to wrench herself free.

One time in particular she found herself in a massive puddle, stuck and sinking. After observing her struggle for a minute Bellamy stepped in and offered his hand. Grateful and tired she took it and he pulled. They stirred up mud and water sloshed over the top of her boots as they made no progress.

“Those might be a lost cause.”

Panting she tried to picture walking home in her socks, her boots left behind to stand on their own in the puddle. A giggle escaped her lips as a wheeze before she looked up at him, eyes distant and shiny before all the light went out of them. Her shoulders drooped and her head fell back as gravity pulled her to the ground. If not for his quick reflexes she would have landed in the puddle.

“Clarke?”

She was cradled in his arms, hands wrapped around her back, leaving him stuck, bent over straddling her limp body. She was still breathing but when he called her name again she didn’t respond. So instead he ducked down and slowly tilted her over his shoulder. His frozen fingers reached down for the laces on her boots and hooked a finger into a loop. It was a slow process but he extracted her feet, carried her to a clear spot and gently laid her down, hands moving to cradle her head. He laid his hands on either side of her face, her skin overwarm under his palms.

“C’mon Clarke. I’m not the doctor here.”

But he was alone with his thoughts as rain dripped down her flushed face. She didn’t respond when he shook her shoulders or pinched her arm. He watched and waited, eyes flicking from her face to her chest and back. When she started to wheeze again he knew he couldn’t wait.

“Crap.”

It was then that he threw the food onto the trail, pulled her to her feet and onto his back. Without a second thought he started running towards camp. His legs were liquid fire by the time he reached the perimeter, throat raw and heart beating like a loud drum. He stumbled to a knee as he slipped on the wet grass with Clarke’s weight pushing him into the ground.

A guard approached, gun half-raised, eyes narrowed as he left his post and approached them, rain obscuring the figures splayed before him.

“Go get Abby!”

The man looked askance at him before he recognized Blake and stiffened his posture.  

“Tell her it’s Clarke!”

Bellamy tried to pull her back into his arms but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate. So instead he gave her what shelter he could from the rain. Soon enough Abby came bursting through the gate, trailed by a handful of Med Bay staff.

“What happened?” She bent down in front of her daughter, eyes making a quick assessment as her fingers sought a pulse. When she looked up to Bellamy she noticed the dazed look in his eyes, the slight tremor in his shoulders.

“I don’t know but she’s having trouble breathing. I think she was bit by something.” He held up her hand to make sure Abby saw the welt.

A nurse knelt down next to him to lift Clarke out of his arms. The man had a determined look on his face, bushy blonde brows frowning as he curled his hands under her torso. For a moment Bellamy’s fingers tightened around her arms before Abby laid a hand on him.

“We need to get her inside to make sure she’s all right.”

He nodded silently and watched as her limp form was carried through the gates. Abby offered a hand and helped pull him to his feet. The streets of Arkadia were empty thanks to the rain which was handy for Bellamy whose gait had started to weave slightly. Fortunately for everyone things had been quiet so Med Bay was close to empty. Abby hurried to get Clarke hooked up to a variety of machines while Bellamy rested against a wall.

One nurse drew a vial of blood while another brought Clarke’s vitals up. Abby asked for something called “Dexa” and prepped a shot. They moved quickly amongst each other in quiet tones, occasionally conferring in groups. All the while Clarke lay motionless among them.

Bellamy watched it all, ignorant of their actions but unwilling to leave. At least, not until he got the all clear from Abby. Shifting his weight he tried to find a more comfortable position, having slumped against a section of wall with a generous amount of riveting. As he settled back a hand on his shoulder jolted him from his position and he practically fell over. A nervous-looking guard with a crooked collar was trying to relieve him of his gun per the rules set out when Abby had officially opened the Med Bay. Checking the safety he handed it over, grateful to be rid of the extra weight but the motion pulled at his back. He tried to ignore the ache as a nurse covered Clarke in a blanket despite the sweat on her brow.

Twenty minutes passed in relative silence during which time he slowly folded in on himself, relying on the wall to hold him up. The steady beeping of the machines flattened out into a thin hum at the back of his brain and pulled his chin down to his chest.

After making some final adjustments to the drip she put Clarke on, Abby looked up to see Bellamy, arms folded, eyes closed, practically slumped against the wall, his brow pinched. She couldn’t help the quiet smile that came to her lips. A gentle shake soon roused him and this close she could see the bloodshot eyes and feel a tremor through his wet clothes.

“You should rest.”

“Is she all right?” He wiped at his eyes, fighting the urge to yawn even as his jaw threatened to bend unnaturally.

“She’s resting.”

He frowned and stood up from the wall, one whole shoulder all pins and needles. “That’s not an answer.”

“There’s nothing more we can do for her now,” Abby sighed. “Until we know what exactly bit her we can’t start proper treatment. Ideally we’d need more symptoms to surface to narrow down the possible suspects. So why don’t you go change, get some rest and come back in the morning.”

Instead Bellamy just looked over her shoulder to Clarke, unable to discern what the machines were saying apart from that she was still alive. When he made no move to leave Abby put on her best mom face.

“Do I need to sedate you?”

Bellamy paused. “No.”

“Then leave before I decide you do. I promise you she’s not going anywhere.”

He reluctantly left after she practically had to push him out the door. Exhausted, starving and cold he dragged himself over to the Mess for something hot. What he got was a long line up and a loud group from Agriculture in front of him. By the time he got to the front he was able to finagle a cup of soup from cook despite his lack of ration card. He burnt his tongue and throat as he sipped the bland concoction, leaning against the entrance.

He dumped out the rest of the “soup” on the ground and set the cup on the nearest tray. Ducking into the rain he double-timed it back to the cupboard that served as a bedroom and quickly shucked off his clothes into a soggy pile in the corner, muffling his pained groan as he pulled off his shirt and jacket. He made a face at the heap of wet clothes before hanging them up. The value of water hadn’t changed much on the ground and he didn’t have enough rations to justify cleaning clothes that were only muddy.  

Wearing the only other clothes he owned he walked back into Med Bay.

Abby looked up from the chart she was reading. “So you do want to be sedated.”

Instead of responding he knelt down and started untying his boots.

“It’s not a busy night. You have other beds free and if you need mine I’ll use a chair.” He dumped his boots by the bed next to Clarke’s and sat down.

She crossed her arms and raised a brow. “Your bed?”

He shrugged. “I could use a night’s sleep. But I’m not leaving her.”

He sat back in the bed and wrapped himself in the same regulation blanket Clarke was currently swathed in, coarse and scratchy against his bare skin. He tucked the pillow under his head and tried to sleep. Best he could guess it was near sunset which meant Abby would be off shift in a few hours. By then he would hopefully be awake enough to keep watch. He yawned, shivering as he tried to keep his weight off the bad shoulder.

As his eyes slipped closed he found himself back in the forest. This time he was following Clarke. It was raining but he barely noticed. He held out his hand and the droplets fell right through his fingers which explained why he wasn’t cold. The sky above was pitch black without moon or cloud or stars. And yet the trees, the trail, Clarke, all were visible.

“Clarke!” He jogged towards her but wasn’t able to close the distance. She was always ahead of him, no matter if he ran or not. So he stopped and so did she. He walked a step, she walked a step. Every action was mirrored; a jump to the left, crouched, lying down on the ground. A twig chucked at her arm had no effect; neither did a pebble. For a long while he sat against a tree, trying to figure out how he could approach, her face hidden behind her hair.

After digging a rut into the trail with his boot heel he stood, faced away from her and walked. A glance over his shoulder revealed she was following, her head turned to look behind her. A side step off the trail had him keeping an eye out behind him for obstacles. And it wasn’t until he saw a large tree behind Clarke that he started backing up. Soon enough she backed into it and he bumped into her. His hand reached behind him to grab her arm and hold onto her. He whipped around only to nearly lose his grip.

Her eyes, nose and mouth dripped with blood. Her gaze was unfocused, as if she was staring past him instead of at him.

“Clarke?”

He took hold of her shoulders and tried to sit her down. She had no reaction when prompted. Blood spilled onto her shirt in dark splotches. Then her hands started to shake and her head tilted back; tremors migrated up into her body, mouth wide, eyes unseeing. Something screamed behind him, so loud he flinched and let go of her.

Her knees gave way and she fell to the ground, limbs locked, fists clenched, choking. He knelt, grabbed a handful of jacket to pull her to her side. She coughed, followed by a shuddering wheezy inhale, repeating over and over. Blood pooled on the ground, a thread of spit lead up to her lip.

She blindly reached out to grab at his shirt, nails digging into his skin as she yanked him close. He could see her lips moving but heard nothing. As he bent closer he could hear a rasping whisper. Ichor bubbled in her mouth. She gave a stuttered gasp and then was still. Eyes wide open but empty.

“No!”

He grabbed hold of her shoulders. Her head lolled to the side, blonde hair spilling onto his hand. Then her body disintegrated into dust, blown about by a cold breeze that turned into him. Blinded and choking he tried to escape the cloud only to collapse on the forest floor.

His eyes snapped open and he found himself staring up at the corrugated ceiling of Med Bay. Heart pounding he wiped the drool from his mouth and turned to the bed next to him. Clarke was there, still asleep and not dust.

He pulled an arm over his eyes and huffed out a long-held breath. He let time quiet his heart, thumping in his ears, against his chest. As he sat up, the ache in his back twinged and forced him to bite back several colourful swears. Breathing through his teeth he leaned down to struggle with his boots.

Soon enough he walked over to her, uncertain of her condition. Sweat beaded her brow, her face still flushed but her breathing even. A glance at her hand revealed the bite wound had crusted over but now had several subdermal black tendrils spreading out from it up towards her wrist. His eyes widened as he pushed up her sleeve, following the veins up her arm. They disappeared past her elbow.

He approached the closest nurse who looked haggard with stray wisps of hair having escaped her tightly pinched hair. She couldn’t provide any more information than what was on the monitors. Clarke’s temperature was slightly elevated but her blood pressure was steady.

“Is Abby still on shift?”

“Should be. Maybe try the Mess?”

With a glance over his shoulder to ensure the monitors were still in the green he stumbled outside where he had to shade his eyes. Clearly he’d slept longer than expected as a cloudless sky let the sun beat down on him and his tired visage. A trip to the Mess told him he’d missed breakfast and lunch. There was no sign of Abby but he was able to snag a bun from an abandoned tray. He had to stuff it in his pocket and book it when one of the guards turned his way though. The paltry meal was stale but hunger receded as he shuffled over to Housing and found she wasn’t home. Border Security claimed she hadn’t left Arkadia and no one had seen her since yesterday. He scratched at the five o’clock shadow on his chin and did the only other thing he could and swung back to Med Bay and Clarke.

He could only hope Abby was back when he walked inside and stopped dead. Clarke’s bed had a quarantine tent set up around it. Plastic sheeting sealed from floor to ceiling with a double barrier entry and two guards set on either side. There was no sign of Abby but he could make out bright orange figures inside the barrier. It was like staring through a greasy window.

He turned to the closest guard. “What happened?”

“They put up a tent.”

Bellamy rubbed a hand over his face. “I can see that. Do you know where Dr. Griffin is?”

The man shrugged. “I just started shift and I haven’t seen her so…no.”

Bellamy grit his teeth at the indifference. One question to a short nurse with crow’s feet restocking gauze gave him his answer. He found her staring at a pile of papers in what had once been a supply closet, yawning. She looked up at the noise, saw him and held up her hands in placation at the man who was equal bits nervous and angry with a five o’clock shadow and drooping shoulders.

“I know and it’s just a precaution.”

“Why?”

“She developed more symptoms overnight, some of which prompted me to declare a quarantine zone for her protection and ours.”

He had a sinking feeling he knew what she meant. “What kind of symptoms?”

“Something from the bite got into her circulatory system. She started to have trouble breathing this morning and when I gave her another shot of Dexa she started coughing up blood. So far I have two nurses in isolation due to exposure and I’ve sent for a Trikru healer. The blood and tissue samples are due back from the lab in a few hours so hopefully I’ll have a better idea of what I’m dealing with but until then all we can do is wait.”

He nodded absently, his eyes on the ground, unfocused.

“Is she awake?”

Abby shook her head. “She’s been out since you brought her in and it’s probably better if she stays that way.”

Somehow he found his way back to the “tent”. Two nurses transitioned through the plastic barriers, each decontaminating the other. They brought a sour chemical odour with them as they stepped out of the tent. Both slipped out of their bright orange suits and started consulting over the monitors.

Bellamy stood next to the plastic sheeting, unable to make out her blurry form. If he stayed he wouldn’t be of any use but all the same he wanted to. Unfortunately he had training in about forty minutes so he hovered for as long as he could, eyes flicking between the tent and the screens before the guards kicked him out for loitering.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in something of a daze as he went through the motions but wasn’t exactly present. This earned him a bruised cheek when he failed to dodge a punch. It was sore enough that he had to chew on the other side of his mouth at dinner before hurrying back to Med Bay.

The entrance was blocked however, by a large Grounder contingent, mostly warriors standing outside, as if they expected Arkadia to turn on them. Many had no love for Skaikru so he was forced to push his way through. More were inside, still armed, trading glares with the guards stationed at Clarke’s bedside. Indra stood next to Abby, speaking in low tones. He was only able to catch the tail end of their conversation.

“…anything but we will try. This is Varn.”

An old woman with a giant collar of woven leather and shells appeared from between two tall men and shuffled forward. Her gait was uneven and her shoulders stooped. She stopped next to the quarantine tent.

“You can take this down?” Indra looked at Abby.

“It’s meant to protect everyone in case she’s contagious. Standard procedure has anyone going inside suited up. I don’t suppose that’s going to work here though.” She looked down at Varn who was trying to peer through the plastic.

Indra raised a brow at the Skaikru jargon. “To help Clarke she must be able to see Clarke. Remove this,” she frowned at the plastic, “so she might help you.”

“We’re trying to keep anyone else from getting sick.”

“We will be fine. Send your people out if you worry for them.”

Torn between following protocol and taking what help she could find, Abby ushered the nurses out the front door but made no move to follow. Neither did Bellamy. Worst case scenario they would get sick and have to disinfect everything. She only hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She moved to pull down the tent and found the tape stronger than she imagined.

Bellamy silently walked up and started on the opposite side. They struggled for several minutes alone while the Grounders waited silently. As he gathered the sheeting in his arms he looked down to the bed. Her cheeks were still red, her lips chapped, her clothes caked in mud. One look at her arm revealed just how far the infection had progressed. Her shirt had been cut away for easier access and all the veins in her arm were black, tendrils spreading up to her shoulder. The other arm by comparison was clear.

Varn shuffled her way up behind Abby, shells clacking as came to stand beside the bed. She softly picked up Clarke’s arm, holding the dead weight in her wrinkled hands. Her fingers follow the veins; long nails traced a path up the skin before she turned the hand over the hand and brushed her thumb on the inflamed welt. She poked her finger inside Clarke’s ear, pried open her mouth and pulled down her lids to peer at her eyes. All of this was accompanied by unintelligible muttering. The only other sounds were Clark’s vitals on-screen and the creak of leather as Grounders shifted their feet.

“Jogots-wey,” Varn croaked out and patted Clarke’s arm as she laid it back down. A smile creased her face.

“I, I don’t – what is that?” Abby turned to Indra.

“It is a fly that drinks blood. Those bitten usually fall ill, see things, lose their memory. Many die.”

“Is there a cure?”

Bellamy’s eyes flicked down to Clarke.

“No. But she may yet live. Varn has seen others through this. She and her guards will stay.”

Indra turned to leave, taking all but two Grounders and Varn was looking around at all the machines and wrinkling her face in distaste.

“Jackson? Could you take Varn and see what rooms we have available?”

Abby turned back to Clarke and pinched the blanket between her fingers to pull it up over the infection before hearing a small strong voice behind her.

“I will stay here.”

Abby turned to see Varn smile up at her, milky blue eyes and all.  Her guards stood to the side, more akin to statues although their eyes scanned the room from side to side and floor to ceiling.

“Oh. I’m sorry. We don’t have bedrooms here. Jackson can take you to Housing where you can rest and show you the Mess if you’re hungry.”

“I will stay here.” She shuffled over to the bed Bellamy had been using and clambered onto it, her short legs wiggling around as she struggled to right herself. Settled, she spread out her clothes and turned to watch Clarke.

Abby waved Jackson off. “Make sure that you note bed four is occupied.”

Bellamy dragged a chair over and sat down, one eye on Clarke, one eye on Varn. It wasn’t long before the noise of the machines and the murmurings of nurses pulling him into that half sleep before rest.  

An alarm shrieked in his ear and he bolted off the chair in surprise, hand going to where his gun usually was. Heart pounding he relaxed when he realized where he was. Next to him Clarke’s eyes were wide open as she struggled to breathe, the monitors behind her blaring an alarming red. Three nurses crowd past him to check vitals and loom over her.

Abby pushed what he presumed was another shot of Dexa and nervously stroked her daughter’s hair as the minutes passed and her vitals descended back into safe levels.  

Clarke was panting. Her chest hurt and her hand was numb. She recognized Med Bay but couldn’t remember most of the last day. There was a hazy recollection of walking but it could easily have been a dream. When she tried to sit up her arm wouldn’t cooperate, acting more as dead weight than anything. That’s when she looked down to see her arm was covered in black veins traveling up from her wrist.

“What…?”

Her mom put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got an infection from an insect bite. Bellamy brought you in last night.”

She looked over to see him standing next to her bed, wearing stubble and a frown.

“You look terrible.”

He gave her a wry smile. “I’m not the only one.” He fidgeted with the cuff of his jacket while she got a proper checkup. “I’ve got Patrol soon but I’ll come back before night shift starts, see if I can sneak you a sweet roll.” He looked sidelong at Abby who shook her head at the mention of contraband.

“Well you tried.” Clarke waited until her mom turned away before she held up two fingers.

He ducked his head to keep from grinning. “I’m glad you’re awake.” He gave one last glance to Varn who hadn’t wavered in her attention on Wanheda.

Clarke watched him walk off before she looked down to her arm and tried to wiggle her fingers. Abby filled her in on the events occurring after she’d passed out but truly she was only half-listening. Her brain felt fuzzy which she assumed was a side-effect of the drug she was on but her arm also itched like a slow-boiling pot. The feeling was insistent and growing louder by the minute. At one point she sat on her hand to keep from tearing into her skin. She pressed her head back into her pillow, looking for a sensation that would overwhelm the sting. This held for several minutes until she slowly reached over and pressed her nails into her arm in search of relief. But the half-moon marks did little if anything so she slowly scratched four parallel lines up her skin and sighed.

“Don’t scratch Clarke.” Abby looked up from her screen.

“Can you give me something besides the drip then?” She croaked out, lips cracked, tongue dry.

“Normally I would but we don’t know how you’ll react with the infection. I should be getting test results back soon. Can you hold on until then?”

“Sure.” She rolled over and closed her eyes, knowing that sleep was unlikely. All the noises around her blurred into a cacophony: voices, footsteps, electronics.

“Here.” Someone poked her shoulder she and turned over to see a Grounder woman staring back at her, holding a twig in her hand. “Chew.”

“You must be Varn.”

“Yes. Chew.” She poked Clarke with the twig before trying to put it in her good hand.

Brow raised, she gently took the gift.

“For your itch.”

“Oh.” Clarke watched as the woman settled back onto her bed, placed her hands on her stomach and closed her eyes. A look down at the twig in hand wasn’t very reassuring. She took a tentative bite and fought the urge to make a face at the taste, which she imagined was something like dirt but drier. It at least gave her something to focus on and she found the more she chewed, the less she felt like her arm was going to melt off.

“Something in the bark maybe?” She murmured to herself.

Varn cleared her throat to catch Abby’s attention before nodding at Clarke. “You should bleed her.”

Clarke frowned, twig in mouth. “Whar?”

The woman pulled a long thin knife off her belt and rolled the hilt in her fingers, the blade reflecting off the overhead lights. Abby stepped between the beds, mouth a thin line.

“What exactly are you proposing?”

“Bleed her weak and the bite goes weak.”

Abby looked askance at the knife and bit her tongue. The practice of bloodletting had gone out of style hundreds of years ago and was now considered a pseudoscience.

“I thought Indra said there was no cure.”

Varn crossed her arms as shells clacked against her collar and sat up as tall as she could. “I have saved five this way.”

“And how many did you bleed?”

“Many.”

Abby fought to keep from making a face at the mortality rate. “We’re hoping to have better results with our tests.”

Varn shrugged. “If you are a healer you must heal.”

“Yes, well. That’s the plan. I think we’ll pass on the knife.”

“Wanheda?” Varn leaned back to look at Clarke who at least had the sense to look apologetic.

“I’m sorry but I agree with my mom.”

Varn quirked a brow. “You want to live? You must bleed.”

Clarke took the blunt assessment in stride. Soon after she fell back asleep and her dreams were plagued with shadows that crawled across her eyes and burrowed into her brain. As the hours ticked by her temperature slowly rose. When her core crested 100, Abby laid a cool compress on her forehead.

The lab results for the blood and tissue samples had been unsatisfactory. They confirmed Clarke had a viral infection introduced into her bloodstream but since the vector wasn’t in their database they had no pathology to draw upon. She could only run through their remaining store of antiviral medication and test the samples against each one. Indra’s words came back to her as she watched her daughter sleep with an elevated heartbeat.

When she woke sometime after dinner the black veins had reached her throat. She was dizzy lying down and coughed until she was hoarse, fighting for breath and then rolled over, pushed the mass of bodies away from her and vomited straight onto the floor. She used a sleeve to wipe her mouth and made a face at the sour bile on her tongue as a pair of nurses came to clean the mess up.

Another shot of Dexa left her already bruised arm sore but at least she still had feeling on that side. An uncomfortable theory had lodged itself in her brain so she marked how long it took for her blood pressure to go down. Each shot stretched out her recovery time longer and longer. This instance was nearly twenty seven minutes, an absolute eternity. Worse still her mom wouldn’t look her in the eye. But the crease in her brow grew with every test that came back. It was a look Clarke knew too well.

“M-om?”

Abby looked up and pasted a smile on her face. “It’s okay. I’ve got half a dozen more to run. We’ll find something.”

Forty minutes later Clarke had started feeling twinges in her chest. The pain was intermittent but sharp. Abby had given her an oral anti-inflammatory but she had thrown it up less than ten minutes later. While she stared up at the hazy fluorescents the nurses had changed out sweat-soaked sheets.

Abby watched as her only child descended into the infection, her body losing the fight in her half-conscious state. And as the last of the antivirals failed to have any effect on the infected blood, she approached Varn and sighed.

“If we’re doing this we’re following standard medical procedure.” Abby held out her hand for the knife. “You can have it back after I disinfect it.”

“You wish me to bleed Wanheda?”

Abby nodded, crow’s feet at her eyes. “I have no experience with bloodletting.”

As they prepped the knife and Clarke’s arm, Varn closed her eyes and began murmuring under her breath. The IV drip was removed and Jackson and Abby exchanged an apprehensive look as the woman took back her knife and held the cold metal against Clarke’s skin. She’d just made the incision when Bellamy walked in.

His eyes widened at the sight of Varn holding a knife in one hand and Clarke’s arm in the other, blood streaming from a long cut into a bowl. He dropped the sweet rolls he was carrying.

“What the hell are you doing!”

He lunged towards the bed before Varn’s guards stepped in to block his path. Each grabbed an arm and wrestled him to the floor, face meeting cold metal. He tried to twist, kicking what he could reach as they bent his arms behind him.  

“Stop! Bellamy stop it’s all right!”

Abby knelt and laid a hand on his shoulder. With a word from Varn he was released. He stood, glaring at the women before he was roughly pulled aside.

“I let her do this because she might be able to help Clarke.”

“So you’re okay with this?” He waved a hand at the bowl of Clarke’s blood, grimacing.

“No but it’s the fastest option we have. None of the antivirals worked and because we have no background on the virus or vector we don’t have an effective treatment plan. I don’t have time for more tests and she’s getting worse. Every Dexa shot takes longer to regulate her breathing and she can’t keep anything down. If I had the right equipment I’d put her in an induced coma and lower her body temperature. But I can only work with what I have and I’m willing to try anything at this point because if the infection reaches her heart there won’t be anything we can do.”

He blinked at the information. Before he’d left for Patrol she’d seemed fine. Snarky even. He made to walk over when Abby grabbed his arm.

“Promise me you won’t attack the only healer who might be able to treat her?”

“Fine.”

He pushed past her and over to where Clarke’s arm was being bandaged. He could see the black veins creeping up past her collarbone.

“Did it work?” He looked over at the old woman who was cleaning off her knife. The blood bowl had disappeared.

“The bite is always fast. She will not linger if she falls. We will know by morning.” She waddled out of the Med Bay, followed quickly by her guards, presumably to find the Mess.

He took the chair from this morning and sat, back to the wall next to her bandaged arm.

“Hey Clarke.”

She made no reply. Her breathing was wheezy and shallow, a rhythmic sound to accompany the low buzzing of the lights. Sweat beaded her forehead, cheeks bright red against a pale face as she shivered under the pile of blankets cocooning her in the bed.

He watched Abby watch Clarke and saw the shift change for the nurses. An hour passed and then two but she didn’t wake. Finally he took hold of her hand, his thumb rubbing circles into her skin.

“I can’t do this without you.” He held tight and simply waited.

As the night ticked by he felt his head grow heavy and nodded off sometime after midnight. When he woke it took a moment to remember where he was. His neck hurt, his mouth was dry and sleep had crusted over his eyes. When he turned to the bed it was empty. For a moment he froze. Ice shot down his back and he imagined the worst. He shot to his feet only to find her standing at the entrance, door wide open to outside.

She was still pale and covered in a sheen of sweat. Her bandaged hand laid heavy on the door. He walked up beside her and softly touched her shoulder.

“Hey.”

She didn’t acknowledge his presence or touch. Instead he had to turn her and squeeze a shoulder. But she simply stared through him. It was only after she blinked several times before recognition flared in her eyes.

“Bellamy. What are you doing here?”

She stepped closer and swayed, nearly falling until she latched onto his jacket with her good arm. Above them the sky had started to brighten, light blue and pale orange against a smear of clouds.

He reached out to cup her cheek, brushing his thumb over her skin. “Waiting for you to come back to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a Bellarke Secret Valentines 2018 gift for @whyclarke.


End file.
